


A Memory of Love Inscribed

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Polyamory, Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Claws, Community: kink_bingo, Control Issues, Control Kink, Demon Sex, Demons, Established Relationship, Injury, Intense, Limit Testing, Love, M/M, No Lube, Painplay, Psychic Bond, Psychic Sex, Rough Sex, Scars, Shapeshifting, Succubi & Incubi, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Trust, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arek explores desires he usually keeps under tight control, to see how far he can push his lover's limits.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Their eyes were locked, and he pushed Sanadhìl down against the bed, pinning his arms by his sides. It had taken a long time to learn how far he could push. The scene he'd been working on for his novel involved just this very sort of limit testing, and had put him in a mood for it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memory of Love Inscribed

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nary and Malkontent for beta help!

Arek set down his pen, casting an eye across the study to where Sanadhìl was curled up with a loosely bound sheaf of papers – some student’s final project, he recalled. His partner looked to be not quite halfway through it, reading with more careful attention that he usually paid to student work and apparently completely absorbed. A glance at the clock told Arek that it was approaching midnight, but he knew that Sanadhìl was probably completely oblivious. Left to his own devices, he would read right through the night.

Sometimes it was best to just leave him be. Sanadhìl functioned as well on force of will as sleep and his class-load for the next day was light. But concern aside, Arek had just been working on a rather racy passage for his new book. He didn’t feel like going to bed alone, and Dozilva had slipped off to her own room a few hours ago, complaining of a headache. Student papers could surely wait.

Arek crossed the room, stretching his arms and wings, without Sanadhìl looking up. He took gentle hold of the loosely-bound book, smiling at his partner’s nonplussed glare as he set it aside and settled himself in Sandhìl’s lap instead.

“Bed?” Arek leaned in for a kiss, waiting until the stubborn set of Sanadhìl’s jaw relaxed to connect, pressing their lips together, letting his feelings of desire wash through his lover and sweep away any lingering resistance. The clock chimed midnight as they were kissing, and Arek could feel his partner smile.

:Bed?: He repeated, this time telepathically, so as not to break the embrace.

:Yes.: San pulled back from him, a calculating smile spreading across his face. A moment later he disappeared, leaving Arek to catch himself quickly before he was spilled to the floor. He could feel him, feel the pull of his blood, in the bedroom above. He followed quickly, disappearing from the study.

Sanadhìl had removed his cream silk tunic already, and the elaborate scars Dozilva had carved into his flesh were visible as fine white lines. Her knifework was beautiful, though Arek couldn't stand to think about that aspect of it too deeply – not the actual cutting, and not the knives themselves. He could admire its results, though, and appreciate the sentiments involved. Each cut was a memory, and he was privileged enough to know the stories behind them all, to have seen them fresh and raw, to have seen them at all. Even within their unorthodox family Sanadhìl was a guarded, private person. This openness, as much as the cuts themselves, was a personal and intimate gift of trust. Arek treasured it deeply, aware of its fragility.

"Am I so entrancing that you plan to just stand there and stare?" Sanadhìl's lips curled into a wry smile. "I could read naked, that might satisfy us both."

Arek crossed the room, taking him by the shoulders. "Oh I plan much more than staring." He kissed his partner deeply, feeling the surge of their connection again, another proof of their hard won trust. Sanadhìl didn't resist, allowed himself to be overpowered, picked up, tossed down on the bed. Arek knelt above him, wings spread as fully as he could manage in the confined space of their bedroom. He stroked a hand down his lover's chest, tracking with his nails the fine designs of Dozilva's knives. Sanadhìl hissed, reaching for Arek's belt, deftly loosening it along with Arek's trousers, shoving aside the fabric and leather to draw out his partner's cock.

:Impatient tonight... is the paper that good?: He relaxed into Sanadhìl's touch, their desires feeding on themselves, and moaned at the sensation of lithe fingers caressing his member.

:If it were, I'd still be reading it. It must be something else.:

Arek could feel his heart – both their hearts – beating faster, but he didn't want this to be over too quickly. :Am I so overwhelming then?: Their eyes were locked, and he pushed Sanadhìl down against the bed, pinning his arms by his sides. It had taken a long time to learn how far he could push. The scene he'd been working on for his novel involved just this very sort of limit testing, and had put him in a mood for it. Sanadhìl, sensitive to his desires through their attunement, chose not to struggle futilely. His gaze, however, remained willful and unbroken.

:Yes.:

It wasn't that San couldn't have stopped him, couldn't have resisted – it was that he'd surrendered his fear, had long ago allowed himself to admit his desires, to allow Arek's desires to become his own. It may not have been an overwhelming anyone else would understand, but between them, there was nothing sweeter. Arek grinned wickedly, dragging Sanadhìl's arms up over his head, pinning them with one hand while he stripped off the rest of his lover's clothing. Once free of his own trousers he straddled Sanadhìl's hips once more, aligning himself so that when he bent forward, their cocks pressed together. Arek moaned hungrily, savouring the little hitch in his lover's breath. They were sharing more than just emotions now, and he let himself get a little lost in the sensations, feeling for both of them pleasure as well as desire.

:I want to overwhelm you more,: he thought. :I want to scare you.:

:Yes.:

Arek bent his mouth to his lover's neck, running his tongue along the thin skin while his teeth lengthened, sharpened, grazed and cut open, giving him a taste of blood. Their hearts beat faster, Arek summoning buried urges, to take, to revel, to hurt and destroy. They felt alien, whether to him or to Sanadhìl he wasn't sure. But you couldn't play games with someone you were this close to, he'd learned. There was no depth, no satisfaction, if you were only pretending.

He wanted to hurt Sanadhìl, to carve him open and see his core exposed. This was what he craved – not fear, but the steel beneath it. Arek bit him again, harder, along the collarbone, just above the scar marking the birth of Dozilva's eldest son. The pain itself couldn't break him – Sanadhìl had borne far worse. You could cut him to the bone and never find his secret self. It didn’t live in his body. It lived, his desire lived, in his mind, and Arek was there, part of his mind too, now... he just had to find it. The pain didn't matter, it was the joy of it that was key – the honest desire to destroy this beautiful thing, to make it his own, and ruined. And if he was disturbed at how easy it was to find that desire again, then Sanadhìl could sense it too, could be just as disturbed and overwhelmed.

His sharpened teeth raked lower, scraping across Dozilva's careful designs, closing around Sanadhìl's nipple and the ring that pierced it, that she had placed, and replaced for him. Arek caught it in his mouth and pulled, gave a sharp suggestive tug, felt the shiver and touched the memory of it being torn out. Arek had killed Ephrimel himself for the violations the demon had inflicted on his lover, for his insatiable hunger and his joy in attempting to destroy something so beloved. But Arek had been the same when he and Sanadhìl had first met, when they'd first attracted one another's attention. He'd changed, but he still carried it with him and could still, it seemed, call it up.

He drew his wings in closer, closing them around the bed, cutting them both off. Sanadhìl rolled his shoulders as he did, feeling them with him through their bond. Arek shook him, his fingers grown sharper, digging into wrists, drawn down to his sides to hold him fast. :I am your world: he thought, felt, moved against him again, still hard – both still hard. Was Sanadhìl's desire his own, or Arek's? Could you measure where one ended and the other began? He moved his mouth lower still, kissing more gently, probing the iron control. It held, and Arek craved its breaking all the more. The paradox of his desire was sweet in his lover's mind, as sweet as his mouth, his kisses, his flesh. Sanadhìl could not satisfy him through submission – could not simply give what was wanted.

It had to be taken.

He hadn't consciously changed his nails to be so sharp – perhaps they had come with the teeth. Sanadhìl's flesh couldn't resist them – the claws tore into his shoulder, into his chest. They weren't like knives, not so clean or controlled, but they could carve just the same – carve away flesh and freedom together. It had worked once on him, taken away his wings. He'd let it happen. Sanadhìl was letting this happen – they were the same, they were one. They both wanted this.

He felt their pain, the shock and the sharpness, the satisfaction, the joy in it. Hips moved, and he felt another penetration, another pain, flesh inside unready flesh. It was hot and tight, not slick, just gripping, a squeezing pleasure, a burning tear. He could feel the pain of rent flesh, see the ragged cuts beneath his fingers, blood welling, spilling onto the sheets. The crude gashes curved around the scars from Dozilva's finer cuts, though he hadn't consciously thought to avoid them. The wounds made it hard to breathe – he could feel his lover's weakness, took a deep breath, as though he could take in air for both of them. Sanadhìl's lungs shuddered, refusing to open so wide.

Sanadhìl's whole body shuddered, twitching in rebellion at its misuse. Arek moved his hips, turning the motion to pleasure, craving more to match the pain, to drive it away. He lowered his mouth to the rents in Sanadhìl's shoulder, probing, tasting, soothing the fire with his tongue. Once he'd craved the taste of such potent life. He remembered his hunger, his patience, remembered wanting this trust, this giving, imagining its sweet betrayal. Now his hungers were different, and it wasn't life he craved, or betrayal. He still had to take as much as he could stand, to plumb the depths of that trust and test its strength, strength he knew his lover revelled in. The blood was warm and salty in his mouth, the flesh yielding beneath his tongue – he'd cut deep. Arek remembered this too, the feel of a hot tongue in his own ever-fresh wounds, when the place where his wings had been still bled, before he'd been healed, been saved.

It felt good, tasted good, felt right despite the pain, and they writhed together. He moved to kiss his lover's mouth, sharing the taste of his blood, tongues tangling, grazing against sharp teeth. They hissed in unison as their blood mingled, sharing this now too, together, one. They moved together more readily, spurred by this new intoxication. He was holding Sanadhìl down again, pinning his shoulders, felt again sharp nails clawing into yielding skin, felt racing hearts pumping away, precious spilling life. This invasion was the only way inside, pushing deep into the mind they shared, to find how much that great will could bear.

More.

It could take more and so he took, letting himself get carried away by the knowledge, the thrill, that this was all for him. Sanadhìl wanted him to take, wanted him to explore and push his – their – limits, reveled in his mustered resistance, letting Arek take still more and more. Sanadhìl was fighting the tension of his body and its natural reaction to his hurts, and Arek struggled with him, letting it fuel his desires and sharing them in turn. They were sharing something beyond the physical, beyond the hot gripping pleasure, the feel of skin on skin, beyond the pain and blood. It was given, taken, borne – for something greater than mere release, something greater than trust or pride, something more terrible, terrifying for them both, from which all pleasure and pain and terror and trust stemmed. For love.

He loved him, who he'd torn open, let him tear open, pushed through, into, held himself, for love, for their love, let him take, everything, all he needed... It was here, between them, in the blood, spilling blood and life, slipping away, and no – what had he done?

:"Arek.":

Sanadhìl's voice, aloud, was weak, wheezy. In his mind, it was strong, so strong still. He reached up, the arms on his shoulders no barrier, and it hurt, how it hurt, and Arek could feel the sharpness, and then bloody hands on his cheeks, guiding him back to hungry lips.

:It’s alright.:

He could feel it, believe it, relief flooding through him with love, with release. They lay together, still joined, Sanadhìl's breath shallow and shaky, Arek's deeper but no more even. With the peak of pleasure passed, the pain that joined them dominated. A sense of horror lingered, despite his faith in his lover's words, that there was something inside him that had wanted, had needed this. His form had reverted, his teeth and nails dulled, but it felt like he had swallowed their edges into himself.

:Let me heal you,: he thought. Sanadhìl was still holding his head, breathing sharp and shallow breaths, and he didn't want to pry himself away.

:Not yet.:

Arek knew that Sanadhìl, unlike some of his past lovers, drew no particular pleasure from pain. It wasn't the sensation he was clinging to, it was something else.

:I want to remember this,: he continued, :For us both to remember. I feel it all with you. I know. We'll always know, and we – you – won't have to do this again. However far we push, we’ll know it’s safe.:

Arek nodded. His heart still pounded, but he understood. Sanadhìl let his fingers slip back, resting against the blood-stained sheets as Arek brushed a hand along his shoulder, intoning the words of healing. He could have used a more powerful spell and taken away all the pain, all the wounds, but this memory was meant to be more tangible. Most of the shallower cuts – the gouges in his shoulders, the bite marks on his neck – closed over completely, leaving only tacky drying blood where they had been. The deeper wound on his chest remained, though it seemed to close up some and Sanadhìl breathed more easily. The pain, at last, was lessened.

:Where is it?:

:Not yet,: Sanadhìl answered again, pulling him closer now that he could do so more easily.

Arek had meant the alchemical paste that Dozilva kept on hand to seal over her carvings to ensure that they would heal cleanly and scar distinctly. He'd been wary of it for a long time, before he'd consented to keep his one and only mark – a small white line that ran along the base of his thumb where he'd been cut by a shard of broken mirror – but it hadn't hurt the way he'd feared. That scar was a reminder, too, of another complicated evening where his emotions had overflown physically. They'd been at odds then, not like tonight, but Arek remained unsettled by the violence that still seemed to be so deeply part of him, despite his transformation. But his partner could bear that for him – wanted to bear it for him. And could call him back.

"I love you," Sanadhìl whispered. His hands caressed Arek's back soothingly, his wings, and the places where they joined. His troubled spirit found a better balm in his rarely uttered words. Arek could always feel the love between them clearly, though not always so strongly as he did tonight. He embraced the emotion easily, but knew it was more of a struggle for Sanadhìl to open himself up to it so honestly. But their love was real, strong, enduring. Overwhelming. "I love you."

Sanadhìl tilted his head back, and they kissed. The taste of blood lingered at first, but faded quickly from their hungry mouths.

"Now?" he asked when they eventually broke apart. Sanadhìl nodded, waving at the closet where the paste could be found. Arek rose carefully, reluctant to break contact even though he knew their attunement was strong enough to endure the separation - especially after such a strong emotional experience.

His legs were shaky, and he walked unsteadily over to the closet, and then to the water basin, wetting some rags. The sheets could be dealt with later – they could sleep in a stripped bed tonight. He wiped himself down, quickly and roughly, while Sanadhìl watched quietly. Abandoning the used rag, he dipped another in the still-clean water before returning to the bed.

"Scars first," Sanadhìl instructed.

Arek nodded, lifting the cloth to his chest and squeezing out water over the wounds. Sanadhìl sat still and patient, submitting to this as he had to Arek's claws – a less perilous trust, perhaps, but trust all the same. The cuts were still bleeding, but they were no longer deep enough to concern him overmuch. Once they were clean, he spread a layer of the aromatic paste across them before cleaning away the rest of the dried blood and sweat and semen. The cuts were obscured from view, but he could still feel them as if they were his own. They would heal into thick white lines, curving around Dozilva's more precise, artistic scars, marking forever the complicated patterns of their shared lives and memory.


End file.
